Mirrors

Sink Or Swim

Chapter Eighteen:

Sink Or Swim

We’re moving. From out of the blue, those two words came out of my mother’s mouth as if they weren’t important at all. She sat on the dining room table with her eyes glued to her phone. Little Irene laid on her stomach on the beige, marble floor. She had papers and notebooks scattered around her. It was always a strange habit of mine to study at the most unusual of places. Her maturing face glanced at mom with awe, as if witnessing an impossible wish finally come true. Her brown eyes grew immensely as her mouth gaped open.

I remember this day fairly well. The whole day I was bombarded with compliments of a new dress that I had received on my birthday a few weeks back. It was the first time I wore it to school. Over the years, relationships between classmates blossomed into beautiful friendships. The teasing had assuaged, taking me by surprise. Everyone was changing attitudes, which also meant changing opinions about one another. Some transformed into butterflies that expressed beauty from inside, out. Others morphed into cockroaches, leaving dirty trails behind them. Everyone was growing up, though they weren’t even in their teen years yet. Everyone was trying to find themselves.

I followed along with the transition of growing up. I’d started to calm down. Though my laziness still distracted me here and there, new responsibilities rose at the horizon. There was so many things to learn, so many things to do. It was starting to get better. It was starting to get more peaceful. But when good finally arrived, I was leaving it all behind.

The scene ahead of me warped; the image’s colors twisted together, making meaningless shapes and swirls. The image transformed; I found myself at our new home, hundreds of miles away from the city I grew up in. There I was standing in the middle of my new bedroom. There was a twin bed at one corner of the room. The walls were covered in light floral patterns of wallpaper. A thin lavender curtain hung by the windows, faintly showing the neglected backyard. A beige colored carpet covered the whole bedroom floor, creating more of a cozy atmosphere. Two teddy bears sat on top of the bed’s pillows. They were forever frozen in a beaming expression, their lips traced by yarn. Right below them was the napping twelve-year-old Irene. No. She wasn’t Irene any more; she was Valerie.

I hated this room. I hated the memories it brought forth. I hated every little detail of it. It brought too many things to me—too many at once. A rapid flash flood of madness took a hold of me, as if thousands of eyes started watching me again. Their judging, their ridiculing, their voices—they came to taunt me.

There was no way in hell that I was going to watch these painful memories again. This was my world. I could do whatever I pleased. A terrible scream shot through me from out of no where. My fists clenched; my nails dug into my palms, tearing through skin. My vision began to blur. I felt a monstrous rampage surging, arising in a chaotic burst.

I ran toward the window, knowing that there was nothing there to stop me. This memory was a clip of the past. Like a movie, there had to be the edge of the picture. There had to be an end. There had to be a window outside this realm. I’m not going to stand around and watch whatever monster I’d become. That girl was long gone. I didn’t need her back. She just had to stay away from me. Stay away!

I’m not going to be a monster again.

Run. That was all that I could do. Through hills, through trees, through houses and through people I went. My body was transparent; it was as invisible as air. No one would really care if I made a single move. Greens and browns passed me, blurring lines of objects and scenery. I focused on what was ahead of me, and ahead of me was a way out of this memory.

Finally, it was over.

I took an enormous gasp of water into my lungs, feeling them turn into oxygen to breath. There was my ocean—my world. This was the happiest I had ever been in a while. This ocean of mine was my prison, but it’s all I’ve got. An involuntary urge to laugh started to itch at me. I held on to my ribs, feeling a side ache as my snickering turned to a hysterical guffaw. This was the first time I’d manage to gain full control of this world. This meant that I’d be able to do more. I closed my eyes, relieved. After a few more moments, a content calmness took a hold of me. I treaded in silence, waving my arms back and forth. Then I fell fast asleep.

I woke up feeling rested. My vision was blurry, though I adjusted them by rubbing them with my hands. There was something wrong with my hands. They felt dry and misshaped. Wrinkles formed crevices I never thought would exist. Brown aging spots formed along them, covering my once perfect skin. I held my face; it felt soft and lifeless. It’s plumpness faded away, leaving sags and wrinkles everywhere.

In front of me were mirrors, surrounding me from left to right, from top to bottom. I was enclosed in this octagon box of mirrors. In them was a reflection that only a mother could love. The reflection was horrid, showing an aged woman in a white, simple dress. She was horrified, as if she had seen a ghost. This woman was me. I was afraid. I couldn’t look at myself, but everywhere I turned was the image of me. There was nothing left to do; I swam back to gain some momentum, them swam forward to slam against the mirror. Then I started punching them with fists, putting all my anger into wrecking them all. They didn’t budge. They didn’t break. What else was I supposed to do?

The reflection changed, blackening in color. There was nothing there but darkness. Suddenly eyes started appearing, watching me from every corner. I screamed, exasperated.

“Leave me alone!”

Shatter and clank; the mirrors exploded into smithereens. I was back in the ocean. I was safe and sound. But I wasn’t alone any more. From where I swam, millions of lifeless, blue souls floated around. They swam on their backs, being pulled by a slow moving current towards an epicenter where I had no way of seeing. It pulled every soul inside. Each one that reaches the center disappears, but no one seemed to care.

River Styx.

This whole thing reminded me so much of the Greek myth of the River Styx. This was no longer the purgatory I stayed in. I had to find a way out of there. I swam the other direction of the current. For miles and miles bodies laid around, waiting to disappear. They were all clueless—incoherent. All they could do was groan in a melancholic symphony. I wasn’t going to be like them. I wanted to fight. Push and pull; it was like swimming through a sea full of debri.

There was no space left, but I wasn’t going to give up. I was either going to sink or swim. However, I had no idea how long I could keep this up. I’d be swimming forever. Laying down and letting it happen seemed tempting. Sleep was calling me with a soothing lullaby. My muscles began to weaken, my consciousness began to blur. What else was I supposed to do? What else was I—what else—what . . .